


when your Forever is Combustable

by Oaklin



Series: Forever Everything [90]
Category: Combat Zone Wrestling, Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: (am I right?), (in the Papa Pierre kind of way), (is a pretty good description of the CZW gang), (not in the sexual daddy-kink kind of way either), (whats a little blood and maiming between family), Dysfunctional Family, Kayfabe Compliant, Kevin's Paralyzing Fear Of Necro Butcher, Kevin's Tender Fondness For A Certain Luchador, M/M, Necro-dad, Piggyback Rides, Swearing, aggressive affection, obligatory Kevin Steen warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-25 15:14:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14381325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oaklin/pseuds/Oaklin
Summary: He couldn't tell you, when and where this all started. He either does not remember, or he blocked the memory through sheer force of bullheaded will.He would give anything to know where it all ends, though.





	when your Forever is Combustable

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello!
> 
> Who is ready for a mess? The CZW vs ROH war is just getting started, and our boys are not looking so hot. Sami is slowly losing himself and Kevin is, well, Kevin. That boy is always a huge collapsing pile of regret and befuddled bluster.
> 
> I should probably explain that a little, because I bet that made absolutely no sense to at least a few people. So, back in the day, I believe it really kicked off in the summer of 2006, CZW and ROH did an invasion type storyline, with things quickly devolving into all out war between the two companies. Now, if I recall, the catalyst was CZW's disdain for ROH's haughty, better than thou attitude, what with the Code of Honor and all that. Believe it or not, the whole thing was a big deal at the time, with ongoing over arching story lines and inter company friendships, betrayals and unexpected alliances. That is a fic for another day though, and I'm just going to be focusing on Kevin and Sami's bits and pieces, as usual.

“This way!” Whitmer whisper-shouts, as if they aren't both running down the same fucking hallway, seeing the exact same exit sign.

“Yeah, I gathered that, thanks. The huge orange sign that says ‘exit’ was my first clue, what tipped you off?” Kevin deadpans through his harsh breathing, not bothering to whisper. He’s not even sure why exactly they are running. No one is chasing them and he’s pretty sure the boys have already forgotten about the whole thing.

One fist to the jaw from Dragon the next time Kevin sees him, and all will be forgiven. Kevin’s surprised BJ hasn't picked up on the way things are done around here, it’s not all THAT different from ROH. Just here everything has an extra layer of blood on its surface. Kevin supposes that might be Whitmer’s problem.

Whitmer clicks his tongue disapprovingly, like he is Kevin’s disappointed father. “Do you always have to be such a smartass? God, no wonder you don’t have any friends other than that weird little masked freak.”

_-fuck off-_

(the hell does he even think he is?)

“Jealous?” Kevin says with a wicked smirk, sidestepping so that he briefly collides with Whitmer, sending the wheezing geezer into the wall for a moment, before he manages to right himself with a whine of pain. “I somehow managed to con someone into being my friend, while you’re stuck being _my_ Lacky. How does **that** feel?”

“Hey! Fuck you-” Whitmer starts, buts cuts himself off again when yelling echoes their way, coming from the hall behind them. Panic sets in a bit, and they renew their efforts, the precious exit door seemingly getting farther away every step they take.

“Goddamn those fatfuck ECW ripoffs. I- uh, no offense, Steen.” Whitmer cuts off the beginning of his own rant, glancing sheepishly at Kevin out of the corner of his eye.

Kevin rolls his eyes, grimacing as his ribs begin to ache. “Piss off BJ. And stop half-assed apologizing for offending me. Jesus you are such a nerd.”

Maybe these assholes do have a point about the whole ‘you ROH pricks are a bunch of froofy little bitches’.

_-the fuck does ‘froofy’ even mean, anyway?-_

(hell if I know)

(we can go back and ask Necro if you really want to)

_-yeah, no thanks-_

_-rather go get a colonoscopy without anesthesia than deal with that psycho-_

“Calm down Steen, I saved you remember?”

Kevin snorts at that, “The hell you did. Caused more trouble than you are worth. You really think I give a fuck about this stupid title? I’d throw it in the trash if it didn't get me a bigger payday.”

“Fine. Saved your meal ticket, then. You know, you could show a little more appreciation for my generosity.”

“The fuck do you want, a blow job?” Kevin laugh-snorts at his own hilarious joke, elbowing Whitmer as they crash into the exit door, almost getting their dumbasses stuck as they both try to go through at the same time.

_-morons-_

“Ha ha, very funny Steen. You always this perky after almost being mobbed to death by savages?” Whitmer snarks, cradling his side as they slow down, untangling themselves and making it through the door successfully.

That in and of itself feels like an achievement.

They blast through the door at last, careening out into the cool night air, gasping and choking. Whitmer takes off again, but Kevin finds himself very unwilling to haul ass around for no goddamn reason.

He’s made enough of a fool of himself for one night, thank you very much.

“Fuckin’ stop, BJ. No one is even after us, for one, so there is zero reason to be scuttling around like the idiot you are,” Kevin shakes himself, loitering around between the beat up cars in the parking lot, grimacing as he feel dirty sweat droplets cascading down his arms and back, under his shirt.

“Uh, I think you are mistaken, sir,” Whitmer says, his eyes widening slightly, a look of fear clouding his face as he points over Kevin’s shoulder briefly before taking off, pumping his arms and legs exaggeratedly in his haste to flee, like he thinks he’s in a goddamn cartoon or something.

Kevin raises an eyebrow, taking a step to the side so that he can see around the building, letting out a low whistle as he gets a look at the hoard of wrestlers pouring out of the main entrance of the arena. He can’t help but laugh when he sees all the cigarette packages and paper sacks.

“You are such a pussy. They’re taking a breather before they head home, you absolute dumbfuck.” Kevin snatches BJ by the back of his shirt, stopping his mad dash for the other side of the parking lot.

Whitmer looks wary, the unease on his face only worsening when Kevin lets him go and moves to stand in the street light, walking out of the shadows. Kevin ignores him, letting the delight of that melodious voice wash over him, as he reveals himself, fighting down a grin as a tasseled mess of garbled Spanish and broken soliloquies chirps happily at Kevin’s approach.

 _-what is up with_ **_that,_ ** _anyway?-_

 _-why is_ **_he_ ** _so happy to see us all the time?-_

 _-I mean, I_ **_get_ ** _it-_

 _-but I_ **_don’t?-_ **

(that makes no sense)

(but either way)

(No Clue)

(don’t really care either)

_-what do you mean you don’t care?-_

(not my problem)

 _-it very much is_ **_your_ ** _problem,_ **_idiot-_ **

“Kevin, are you crazy? We have to get out of here…!?” BJ whispers urgently from somewhere behind Kevin.

Kevin rolls his eyes skyward, waving a dismissive hand in Whitmer’s general direction before heading forward, reaching out as he and his little ball of exuberant hyperactivity meet in the middle of the sidewalk.

He gets an armful of pale skin and warm gray sweatshirt, the lie still firmly in place, making Kevin frown briefly. He fights the urge to rip it off, wanting to reveal freckled skin and startled eyes. He just manages to stop himself from doing just that, instead reaching up and running his fingers around the edges of falsehood, watching little flecks of red glitter flake off of the material, getting encrusted on his own skin like a marking.

A statement of intent, if you will.

(wait, what?)

_-easy there, Romeo-_

(shut up, that is not even what I meant-)

“Kevin-!” Whitmer’s dumbass is still urging him to do something or other, and Kevin can’t seem to focus on his words anymore. The fluffball in his arms is going cross-eyed, trying to look at the fingers that are dangerously close to his eyes, hazel depths getting darker as his eyes widen, whether in shock or fear, Kevin doesn’t know.

_-should probably be fear-_

(not like I **would** )

 _-you_ **_could_ ** _though-_

(doesn’t seem to bother **_him,_ ** for some reason)

 _-because_ **_he_ ** _is_ **_stupid-_ **

“Hey asshole!”

“You miss me already Dragon?” is all that Kevin manages to get out before he is stumbling back, hand cradling his jaw, losing his grip on his companion.

Generico squawks in distress, fluttering around Kevin with a worried tone in his stuttery voice, looking torn between shoulder tackling Dragon and keeping Kevin steady on his feet. Kevin, for his part, lets himself teeter on his heels dramatically for a moment, leaning his weight heavily on his scrawny companion, feeling the strain as the pale idiot tries desperately to keep him up. They both know it is a fool errand, but the determination of the tiny moron never fails to fascinate Kevin. He bears down on Generico for a heartbeat, until he can feel the other wrestlers own legs start to go out.

Until he can feel Generico start to buckle under their combined weight.

It feels nicer than Kevin would like to admit, though whether it feels good because for once _Generico_ is the one crumpling under the pressure of **Them** , or because it is specifically Generico that is the body beneath him, Kevin is unsure.

_-congratulations-_

(what?)

_-that is a whole new level of deranged fucked up-ness-_

“Fuck off Dragon. I beat you, get over it.” Kevin lets up finally, pulling himself upright and taking the pasty fool with him, rightening him back onto his spindly little legs. He squeaks, looking startled, before turning a megawatt smile on Kevin, blinding him temporarily with the radiance of it.

Dragon sniffs, rolling his eyes and reaching out to pat Generico on the top of his head, getting a delighted string of garbled spanglish for the gesture. “Yeah, whatever. We’ll see about that shit, next time you won’t have shitheel back up with you. No place to run then,” Kevin flinches a bit when Dragon punches him in the shoulder, but the blow is much softer than the knuckles to the jaw were.

Kevin supposes that he is somewhat forgiven, for now.

“Hopefully I won’t ever have to come back to this hellhole,” Kevin grumbles, hissing when his dumbass of a semi-regular tag-team partner jumps on his back, giggling to either himself or to Kevin (never  can be too sure) about ‘ealaa alzuhr’.

(whatever the fuck _that_ means)

“You can leave any goddamn time you want, boy.”

Kevin cringes back ward, reeling back, taking a delighted Generico with him, at the sound of Necro’s voice. Necro just raises an eyebrow, from his position propped up against the wall nearby, can of coke in one hand and a very drunk Matt Sydal dangling from his other. Kevin stops reeling, sorely tempted to ask what the hell that is all about, but Sydal looks half asleep, and Necro doesn’t seem bothered, so he keeps his curiosity to himself.

“Listen-” Kevin starts, wondering exactly how angry Necro actually is at him, the large man’s face completely unreadable as he gazes back expectantly. Kevin stutters for a moment, floundering, before-

“Kevin! We _really_ need to-” Whitmer is all of a sudden too close, grabbing Kevin by the shoulder, dislodging Generico as he jerks Kevin back. Kevin makes a disgruntled sound, throwing BJ off and shoving him back with a growl that escapes his lips without his permission.

“Oh, hey, the grand messiah is still here. Whatcha’ doing there, stud? Lost?” Sonjay swaggers over, probably thinking he looks cool, but the alcohol making his stagger a bit too much. Kevin just manages to hold in a snicker, elbowing Whitmer in the side, hoping that the fool will take the hint and fuck off, before he gets a real reason to be wary of the CZW crew.

“Listen guys, we don’t want any trouble-” Whitmer whines, his eyes trying to track everyone, as they all turn to watch the drama unfold, snickers and jeers starting up as Whitmer walks backwards and away from the pack of hyenas he has suddenly realized he is standing amongst.

“Don’t drag me into this. There is no ‘we’. You came here on your own,” Kevin says firmly, side-eying Necro, whose face goes from unreadable to mildly amused at Kevin’s words.

Kevin feels himself relax marginally.

_-scared?-_

(he’s like a million times taller than me and grizzled in a really freaky way)

_-so that’s a yes then-_

(fuck you)

“Hey boys, we got one of those prissy little ROH dickbags over here. How much you wanna bet his pretty boy dress shirt would look a damn shade better covered in enamel and thumbtacks?” Dragon says wickedly, him and Sonjay completing the feel of the moment by closing in, surrounding Whitmer menacingly.

Kevin snorts at the theatrics, but it does the job. BJ screams deep in his throat, looking like a cornered rabbit, taking off at a pace that would put Aries to shame, bolting from the parking lot, disappearing into the darkness to the tune of raucous laughter and snarky heckling.

Kevin just sighs, glancing at Necro, who has settled Sydal on the ground, the idiot looking to have conked out the rest of the way, curling up like a cat around the imposing man’s feet. Kevin wants to make a snarky comment about Necro-dad, the father of CZW, but he opts to keep his skin where it is, and just hefts a whining, flagging Generico back onto his back, following the others as they head down the street to the bars and the motel.

“Dunno why you wanna go back to that snooty glass tower, dude. Sounds like a nightmare of dress slacks and ‘rules’,” Sonjay says, pulling a bag of gummy worms out of his pocket and sharing them with the snickering dumbass perched on Kevin’s back.

Kevin grimaces, muttering brief threats should his partner get sugar dust all over him. “It’s _up_ in the world, Sonjay. Not everyone is content to be stuck in the same bingo halls for their entire careers.”

Sonjay just snorts, like he knows something that Kevin doesn’t.

“Man, sometimes these ‘bingo halls' are all you will ever need.”

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:
> 
> ealaa alzuhr- Arabic phrase, meaning the rough equivalent of 'piggyback ride'. hopefully. google translate is not the most accurate sometimes.
> 
> I hope my squicked out-ness didn't mess the flow up too much. CZW is not really my cup of tea, especially not 2006 look-at-us-and-how-*different* (read: edgy as fuck)-we-are CZW. Don't get me wrong, at times I'll watch it, and I was admittedly more fascinated with it at the time, but still. I don't do so great with blood and light tubes and ice cream scoops going places they shouldn't. Although, saying it like that it just sounds like those old kinkmemes *.*
> 
> Seriously, if you want to watch a bunch of your current favs, as tiny larval baby wrestlers, trying to kill themselves in the most elaborately painful ways that they can think of, then CZW is the place for you. I swear, I was going over some old matches in order to refresh myself for this current story arch, and good lord above. The fucking neck bumps alone make me want to die. I though current day NJPW was bad about that shit, 2006 indie baby wrestlers are some of the dumbest creatures that have ever been alive. It's a goddamn miracle Generico lived to retire.
> 
> Anyway, yeah. Don't go looking for CZW stuff unless you like your wrestling mildly gory. I haven't poked my head in recently, so I dunno if they've gotten through their cutting phase, but 2006 CZW was deep into the emo edgelord stuff. Probably won't be writing too much of that aspect, as me and Kevin have pretty much the exact same reaction to two wrestlers playing gay chicken with thumb-tack-and-barbed-wire-baseball bats.
> 
> Just kidding. That never happened.
> 
>  
> 
> ...not that I remember at least ^.^


End file.
